


Tale

by Everyman



Category: ANDERSEN Hans Christian - Works, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Beauty and the Beast, Red Riding Hood - Freeform, The Wild Swans, all them hans christian anderson tales, author can't title as well, author can't write summaries too, author doesn't know how to stop, fairytale AU, i have another fic in wip i'm sorry, is a mishmash of various fairytales, oh also has snow white references, the tinderbox - Freeform, traumatised i was, why am i posting this. I add on a paragraph every year during my finals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-12-02 23:46:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11520066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Everyman/pseuds/Everyman
Summary: I am no wild beast that will turn into a charming prince once the spell is broken - the spell is me and I am who the world sees me be.I am, and merely am, the monster of the tales.-Across the town lay the Forbidden Forest, and in that forest lay a monster that resided over all creatures in the shadows.A hideous monster, that people say even Death dare not touch.Every 3 to 4 years, when the blood moon rises, a new sacrifice must be sent.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: do not own HP, belongs to goddess JK Rowling.

Prologue

( The Forbidden Forest )

 

There lies a story, weaved around the forest that lies and looms on the horizon. When you head to the village edge, and listen to the old retired Guard, who still spends every night sitting there, keeping the fire, and he will tell you of the tale of the forest and the family that went when the forest came. Of the beasts and nightmares and fogs of despair, that simply appeared and stayed, and the family that no one remembers clearly, like a uncertain dream, forgotten. The Potters, the old man may have once said. He still says that the unborn child of the family still haunts the area, seeking vengeance and protecting the land where its own blood seeped deep into the heart of every tree grown.

Another tale tells of when the moon first became red, as if dipped in blood, of how the horrors of the forest came to tear the hearts out of unsuspecting villagers, of creatures of the worst nightmares terrorizing all - all until the village’s priest rode deep into the forest, and a tolling bell was heard, rolling through the fog with a faint ghostly glow. With each fading ring, the creatures had been drawn back into the darkness, and with each ring, the villagers realised it came from deep within the forest. Some claim they saw a shadowed figure, atop the very steed the priest had ridden, rotten with death and hellish with wings of nightmares and screeches of bats, watching them through the trees. A figure hidden in tattered cloak, with skeletal hands gripping bloodied reins. There are many tales, but all agree - there was a fearsome monster that commanded the forest and the sacrifice of the priest had been needed to appease the horrors of the forest.

Or so it was told, for why now every 3 to 4 years, when the Blood Moon rises, a sacrifice must be sent into the forest, to the monster they say that governs the creatures of the night, a hideous monster that even Death dares not touch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chpt notes:   
> ... yes. ( okay the problem is i have a ton of paragraphs but not arranged properly. )  
> (i am sorry.)


	2. Chapter 2

The rose briars were blooming, bloody petals soft against his fingertips, the heady scent brought on the biting wind surrounding the grounds. He could hear some birds chirping their soul song somewhere, safe from the dangers of his roses. Or the dangers that grow beneath the roses.

His flowers were special, precious to him as eggs to nesting sphinx. They rose high, like towering walls, dark twisting thorns reaching from the sky, daring any fool to bleed upon their points.

He continues trimming the briar thorns, scattering the pieces over the mounds that the thick branches protect. The ground was stained black, spreading out like a taint.

 

“It’s almost harvest season.”

 

He hummed in agreement even as he felt his friend and leader of his guards stop by his shoulder. Green eyes glanced over to see the newcomer staring at the thorns with wary unease. None of his companions did ever have any fondness for his plants.

“Some are indeed about to ready to hatch.” He brought his fingers together in snapping motion, causing several branches to fall. He continued. “Any news about the boundaries? And how fares the pack, Remus?”

 

Brown shaggy hair covering a face sporting lines of rough times weathered and then some, did not quite belie his true nature like his eyes did. Those inhumanly yellow eyes almost shone with a feral light as the man huffed out a smile. Remus, Fenrir, Marcus, Romulus and Felix were what made up the meagre but indispensable pack of five that resided on the grounds.

 

“Fenrir was being crabby again and playing around with young Marcus, but other than that, nothing from the villagers yet.”

The thick forest that encapsulated his entire castle grounds, but a village resided not far off from the forest line, and there had been accidents with a few reckless bone-headed villagers that did not listen to the elders’ warnings of dangerous things that lay within the trees. With each passing year, the number of youths who had not yet witnessed the horrors of his forest and doubted the tales rose. Those foolish daredevils never last long in their blindness.

 

“The children of the village - they have created a name for the creatures. Dementors.”

 

He made a sound that would have been a snort if given more effort.

“I suppose it matches the effect they have on those they kiss. Though demented sounds a tad exaggerated. Depressed more like. I can’t help their nature.

You didn’t answer me - how fares the pack?” He asked.

 

“... We are trying.” The wolf paused, gathering his words, “I am the only one who seems to remember being human. We aren’t even sure if Felix was human ever to begin with. It’s been trying.“

“Selfish it may be, but I would not take back my action of turning you into humans.”

“There is no need to explain yourself to us, my Lord. Though, I admit it’s hard. Rom and Felix are preferring to stay as wolves, while Fenrir is quite enjoying some of the benefits of having… hands.”

A hum. A shiver through the branches as something settled. 

“Werewolves.”

“Sorry?”

A small smile tugged the corners of Harry’s mouth. “Something I came up for the pack. Seeing as how you once _were_ wolves, now balanced between man and beast - werewolves you are.”

“I am not too sure how to react.” A quick glance at Remus’ face showed the bafflement his words were unable to voice.

 

It continued as a joke, but soon, the name stuck.

They were creatures of the Forest.

They were the snarling pack of werewolves that prowled the mists and stalked the woods.

 

==

 

“A human boy is traveling the woods.”

 

Harry frowned at Remus' words, gaze still in the sky.

“It is not yet time for an offering.”

 

“What should we do?”

 

“Keep an eye on him first, and let him through. I’ll handle on my part.”

 

==

 

“Already, the terror is in your lungs, as you face the certainty of entering doom when staring down the path into the trees.

As one travelled through the Forbidden Forest, one will notice that the air has something _else_ in it the moment one passed the treeline into the shade. The deeper you go, the duller it gets, like the colours of life dare not exist in as you get closer to the heart.

You start to notice that each breath in your lungs gets cooler, the air a chill and the winds a bite. Cold enough for ice, but not enough for snow.

And then the silence, the silence you didn’t realise was deafening your ears, give break to sounds of nightmares even more menacing than your heartbeat drumming aloud - the creatures of the forest aware of your every move."

 

Those were the dramatic words he dimly remembered (vividly recalled, he lies to himself) of a guest’s recount of his Forest. Such a writer, she had been. So passionate.

 

Through the tinted glass of the windows on the second floor, Harry watched as the boy - almost a young man - pushed through his gates warily, but with no hesitance, barely flinching at the shriek of the hinges punching the still courtyard. Even in the dull gloom of evening air, the boy seemed to have hair dark as ebony and skin fair as snow. He hears the moans of his children floating to him, curious about this new intruder. Is he food? They ask and wonder. Or is he danger?

 

Harry is curious as well.

 

He remained in the shadows, as the boy stepped cautiously over the debris of broken furniture in the foyer, the dying evening light filtering through the door. A voice surprisingly deep echoed out into the dark.

 

“Hello?”

 

Harry let the dust settle again, before speaking. Soft, unyieldingly cold, and demanding. 

“What brings you into my home, _intruder_?” The sole torch that stayed lit in the grand entrance snuffed out as his voice rang out on the last word.

 

A flash of white from a quick grin graced the stranger’s lips - _so red_ \- before those dark eyes flicked across the darkness and locked onto him.

 

“You.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer.  
> I typed this in one of my exam-stress fuelled stress typing sessions, and so all the mythological inaccuracies and that kinda thing is my fault. (like uh what even sphinxes and eggs.)  
> Speaking of eggs, I remember thinking about dementors. They couldve' been made via the usual weird ritual thingies. Or maybe they were hatched from eggs. Grown from the bodies of animals that died out of nature. Or in this case, grown under creepy flowers.

**Author's Note:**

> I am sorry for posting this thing


End file.
